


Steter snippet thingies

by FeelingsDusk



Category: Final Fantasy VII, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Chef AU (sort of), FFVII AU, Hunter!Stiles, M/M, Mentions of alcoholism, Mentions of neglect, Time Travel, Turk!Stiles&Peter, magical!Stiles, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2018-06-02 04:56:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6551935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeelingsDusk/pseuds/FeelingsDusk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr snippets.</p><p>1.<b><a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6551935/chapters/14989843">On little shits and smarmy bastards.</a></b> </p><p>2.<b> <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6551935/chapters/14989882%20">UFO.</a></b> </p><p>3.<b> <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6551935/chapters/14989900">Mojo shenanigans.</a></b> </p><p>4.<b> <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6551935/chapters/16688929">When the morning comes.</a></b> </p><p>5.<b> <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6551935/chapters/17794507">Bad day to be a Turk.</a></b></p><p>6.<b> <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6551935/chapters/25799502">A Study in Deviousness and Want.</a></b></p><p>7.<b> <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/6551935/chapters/28442272">Of yappy dogs, wolves and childhood dreams.</a></b></p><p>If you click on the name of the chapter, it will take you there directly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. On little shits and smarmy bastards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter and Stiles drive to a meeting with another pack to negotiate a treaty. Stiles’ a little shit. Peter is a smarmy bastard.

They’ve been on the road for hours and Peter refuses to relinquish control of the car and let Stiles drive. His explanation of _I’ve seen the state of your car, sweetheart_ left Stiles spluttering spastically. They haven’t stopped snipping sarcastic remarks at each other in every conversation since then. From magical theory to supernatural history to music, all topics have been full of snark and gleeful brutal tearing of each others arguments.

Both of them are enjoying every single minute of it… being in a cramped space, not so much.

Stiles knows he’s being a little shit but Peter is being his own dastardly self, so he thinks they are even. It’s good they like each other so much though or it would have ended in a bloodbath… but just for the comment about his Roscoe he spends the next twenty minutes playing with the radio.

Peter starts issuing a death threat when they suddenly get pulled over by a police cruiser. They are not worried, they weren’t even speeding so it must be a routine check. Just before lowering his window down, Peter adds a threat of dismemberment, especially a certain part of his anatomy.

Just for that, while the deputy asks to see Peter’s identification papers, he opens a bag of snacks and starts letting Cheetos dust fall a bit into the upholstery (just a little bit and because he knows this kind is easily cleanable, he doesn’t have any real wish to die, thank you very much!). He thoroughly savors both the Cheetos and Peter’s discrete twitch.

When they slowly pull back into the drive, Peter throws in a remark about his eating manners and Stiles throws a Cheetos at the man’s side of the face in retaliation. Fast as lightning, Peter turns and catches it in his mouth. Stiles gapes and one Cheetos falls from his own mouth and between his legs. Again too fast to react, Peter reaches there, grabs it and eats it.

Stiles splutters, his face flaming and wisely doesn’t try anything like that again. He wants to wipe that stupid knowing smirk from the man’s face so bad though… He changes the radio dial again.

It’s a rinse and repeat for the rest of the trip.

When they finally reach their destination, they’re both badly itching for a shower. They go to the counter of the motel’s administration and get their keys. The moment they reach the room they find out that there’s only one bed and they asked for twin ones. After complaining about it, it turns out all the other rooms are occupied. There’s no couch. Peter shrugs, Stiles eyes him suspiciously.

When he wakes up the next morning using Peter as a teddy bear and with a hard on the size of Mexico, Stiles threatens him into kingdom come to never ever tell a soul. The man laughs in his face, scents him and leaves him spluttering to have a shower. Stiles throws a pillow at him.

“I bet this pack is going to be full of jerks. I just know it. I can feel it in my bones…”

“And why is that?” Peter humors him.

“With a name like that…”

Peter snorts. Later, Stiles would have felt vindicated when he’s proved right and the Jackson pack is full of jackasses, but he’s too busy trying to make them spontaneously combust with his so-cold-that-it-burns glare. He bites his tongue for the sake of the alliance and keeps himself guarding Peter’s back.

When they go back to their motel room, collaboration secured, Peter starts laughing. Hard. Stiles stares at him tranfixed.

Peter doubts that the boy knows what he did exactly, but that’s what makes it even more precious. At first, the Jackson pack had dismissed him as a mere human but after a rather disparaging remark about Peter, he had started staring them down like they were beneath him and they had begun to have doubts. Because he had taken the traditional spot of an enforcer beside Peter, just a couple of steps behind to guard his back, unmoving and cold, but keeping silent no matter what, like he was awaiting orders. Now, before the fire Peter was known as a vicious, never failing enforcer, so what did that make of Stiles? What kind of power did he have if someone like Peter gave him that position? There was also the fact that they both smelled strongly of each other…

He grabs the boy, making him squeak cries of _Pervert! Let me go!_ and thoroughly scents him. Stiles grumbles but lets him. After a few seconds he returns the gesture hesitantly. Peter is delighted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About the bed thing, that has happened to me like a lot. Every single trip I’ve made with my father, that has happened to us idk why. And we always ask for twin beds…
> 
> Anyways, I wanted to pop out and get this out of my system because the part of the Cheetos has been plaguing me ^^U It’s turned out to be longer than I expected. Also, this may be part of a longer fic in the future. Not sure.


	2. UFO

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Runes’ Verse. Stiles starts experimenting with runes. Shenanigans ensue. Papa Stilinski facepalms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the crack version of something I have planned in the future for Runes… which will be totally crack too but in a different context and with a slightly different experiment.

Of course, when Stiles starts experimenting with runes, things don’t go according to plan at all. Which, kid gloves off and all that, means that it ends in a total disaster of stratospheric proportions.

Literally.

John takes a look at his son’s giddy countenance and tells him to do the experimenting where he can see him, just in case. Then, the moment he throws in the terms implosion and, more importantly, explosion, he marches him to the backyard instead of the kitchen. He sits on the porch to watch him like a hawk (again, just in case), but otherwise lets him be. He gets himself some coffee and keeps at least half an ear in Stiles’ running commentary.

Stiles picks a slightly dirty rubber ball (one of those things used to destress and for rehabilitation) for his first experiment. It’s a truly hideous thing that probably, because of the color combination, stresses more than it does the opposite. Though it might actually help with the rehabilitation thing, because it irritates you enough to _want_ to squeeze it. He kind of remembers that they gave it to Scott years ago and for some reason it has appeared in his room. He shrugs. If this backfires he doesn’t want to destroy anything valuable.

First, he carves a durability rune in it with a cutter. The moment he activates it, it glows for a second before it recedes. Then, he tries damaging the ball in any way he can think of and nothing. His father is bewildered when he asks him to pass over it with the cruiser, but complies after a little bit of begging. Nothing, still as good as new. Er, more like as good as it was before he carved the rune. Awesome. Success! Bow to his greatness!

The problems start afterwards.

He decides to carve a gravity rune on it to reduce its weight. He honest to god destroys the cutter and nearly his wrist when he tries. Oookay… Maybe next time carve the runes in a different order? And maybe sharpie is better than actually engraving them?

For the time being, he chooses to not deactivate the durability rune and picks up a sharpie to try again and place the gravity rune on it. It works. He grins. John has a bad feeling about the whole thing for some reason.

He activates the rune and instantly its little weight is gone. He makes a victory dance and his dad rolls his eyes fondly, relaxing. He makes to pass the ball to Jonh.

Halfway through its trajectory instead of going down, it goes up, up and up. And up. And up. And up.

Stiles gapes. John, who had shot up from his seat, gapes too.

“Sooo… that happened?” John facepalms and prays this doesn’t have any lasting consequences.

An hour later, Peter sends a text.

 **From Creeperwolf:** _Stiles, I’m wounded. Have you been having fun without me?_

 **To Creeperwolf:** _What?_

**From Creeperwolf:** _I’m watching the news_.

 **To Creeperwolf:** _Which channel???_

 **From Creeperwolf:** _Sweetheart, every channel._

_We interrupt this emission with breaking news! Today, at 12.39 P.M. our satellite caught…_

**To Creeperwolf:** _Crap_.

He says the same aloud and his father groans. “Tell me that thing didn’t have your name on it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some feedback, please?


	3. Mojo Shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Acording to plan’s verse. More mojo shenanigans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also Known as More Don’t Question The Mojo Shenanigans, because I had way too much fun with that. And also, magics, a lot of magics, \\(*-*)/ I love writing magics. Obviously set in the According to plan verse.

Up until Peter graduates, Stiles visits him a lot at New Haven, always detouring to surprise him with at least a short visit. What can he say? He’s a sucker for the surprised and pleased smiles that spring on his face when he spots him. 

It also leaves him wanting to march back to Talia and throttle her badly. He knows that she was being influenced and twisted by Deaton, but the damage she did to Peter is huge. Because Peter also tries to cover those smiles… It took him a while to get that part of the surprise is because he can’t fully believe that anyone would do something like that for him. Even after more than two years of relationship.

It’s the three year anniversary of their first date and they are walking through East Rock Park, Stiles continuously making puns about cheeks that make Peter snark back good naturedly about three headed dogs and sarcastically remark about elite hunters. He hasn’t stopped milking that ever since a rookie from another family gushed about the Argents and especially about Stiles. He still grins like a lovesick idiot when he remembers Peter’s peeved face and territorial growl, though.

Of course, with his luck everything goes south. Maybe taking a stroll in the dark for the sake of remembrance wasn’t such a good idea, after all? 

Peter stops and cocks his head and, really, Stiles shouldn’t find it so cute, and he’s internally gushing, and… then he hears them. His eyes slowly follow the rapidly approaching sound to the manhole to his left (a frantic _WILL YOU FUCKING PIPE DOWN!!!_ comes clearly through the grid) then further as it moves away.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present you the elite,“ Peter quips drolly. 

His phone rings. 

No, absolutely not. He considers seriously not picking. This day is for Peter and just for Peter and he has a damn present that took forever to track and he’s going to give it to him over that horrible coffee and almost stale muffins the place where they had their first date has, dammit.

Peter blinks before a slow smile creeps into his face. He grabs his face gently to kiss him… and at the same time filches his phone and picks up the call, pressing the phone to Stiles’ ear.

“I’m all about tradition,“ he smirks sassily after he hangs up, pulling him in the direction of the screams he undoubtedly still hears. “Maybe we can bring another species to extinction today. It does wonders to the self-esteem.”

“You would love that, you beast,“ he grumbles as he follows him dragging his feet and pouting.

“OH MY FUCKING GOD, STILES" Brandon cries when he spots them ahead. From behind him, screams approach fast. “IT’S A FUCKING TANK! BULLETS FUCKING REBOUND!“

“RUN, RUN, FUCKING RUN!,” Madison screams, pushing her brother forward and past them.

“FUCKING LANGUAGE!” Reaches them, the voice steadily coming closer. “I DIDN’T FUCKING PAY A DAMN KIDNEY FOR THAT MOTHERFUCKING POSH AS HELL SCHOOL TO HEAR YOU CURSING LIKE SAILORS, DAMMIT. AND PIPE THE FUCK DOWN OR WE’RE GONNA WAKE THE HOLE FUCKING TOWN!!!“

“Ah, the elite,“ Peter snorts and Stiles rolls his eyes. “Well? Where is the big bad? It can’t be that- _WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!_ ” And then he proceeds to grab Stiles and run, survival instincts kicking in hard. 

“AND YOU HAVEN’T SEEN ALL,“ Anthony wheezes as he catches up with them. “HI, STILES!”

“WHAT CAN BE WORSE THAN THOSE TEETH?!” Peter gasps.

“I DON’T KNOW, WHAT ABOUT THE SCORPION TAIL?”

“ARE YOU TELLING ME IT’S A FUCKING TARASQUE?!“ Stiles cries. 

“A FUCKING W-” Anthony’s scream gets abruptly cut when they are pulled to the side and they get their mouths covered. Only Stiles’ firm grip on Peter’s arms stops his immediate violent reaction. 

Meghan appears running and Clara grabs her too. Not even a minute later a humongous beast passes them, only to stop and start sniffing around. They even contain their breathing. 

Several things happen at once. Peter looks as it physically hurts him not to comment about the fact that ten _elite_ hunters are huddled together like scared and puffed kittens (never mind he’s doing the same) when faced with one single enemy. Meghan starts frantically gesturing at Stiles and mouthing _MOJO_ while Clara, Anthony, Brandon and Madison look at him hopefully. Stiles gestures back just as frantically what he hopes conveys clearly a _what the fuck can he do about a dragon with the head of a lion, six short legs similar to that of bear legs, the body of an ox, the shell of a turtle, and a scorpion stinger-tipped tail???_ The rest of the hunters are eyeing the proceedings confused and _is this really the best time for this?_

A tiny almost nonexistent frustrated sound escapes one of the rookies and everyone freezes as the tarasque stills and sniffs around. It doesn’t move in the end, but everyone glares at the rookie and he makes a plaintive gesture. Clara breathes out slowly, leaning a little bit on the disgusting wall, utterly exhausted. 

A rock falls. 

Daniel eyes the group of people that just entered the coffee shop incredulously and then turns to look at his boss wordlessly. They are filthy and smell horrible, but there’s such a dangerous aura around them that he doesn’t dare to say anything. His boss, an asshole of the highest caliber, motions at him to start attending them. 

One of them approaches the counter. His left eye is twitching a bit and when he speaks, it’s like it’s physically paining him to be polite. He’s also clutching a package in his hands in a white knuckled and almost manic grip. He involuntarily takes a step back and the guy behind him smirks. 

“What I don’t get,” one of the guys by the door (not) whispers pouting like his three year old sister, “is why didn’t he do that mojo thing right from the start.” Some of the group gasp as if he’s blasphemed.

The guy from the counter pauses ordering and twitches. Two of the nearby guys take a step back and he unconsciously mimics them. One of the hot twins headslaps the guy by the door hard. “Okay, bitch, engrave this in your brain,“ and she pokes at his forehead so harshly that several (including Daniel himself) wince.” You never ever question the mojo again if you wanna live. Fucking rookies.”

Which what? Who the hell are this people? He looks anxiously at his boss again and he makes a chop-chop gesture at him.

They stay for breakfast. Why? No one does that? The coffee is a sludge that could be used as a degreaser and the pastries are so stale that could be used as military weaponry and they look like the kind of people that would kill for something like that. That smirky guy is just saying what about extinction? And did that hot chick (the other twin) just embed the knife on… they are those shitty plastic ones!

“Fuck this, I’m not paid enough for this shit,“ he mutters as he flees to get his things and leave.

“Now, this is something wouldn’t mind making a tradition out of,” smirky guy crows as he watches him leave. He walks faster ignoring his boss’ cursing. “It’s another type of extinction, after all.“

Tick guy laughs and the rest of the party seems to relax. He really wants to flip sarcastic guy the bird, but… those teeth… did they just… He sprints the hell out of there.

—

On a sunny and beautiful Sunday afternoon, Stiles and Allison nearly die.

It’s summer and Stiles babysat six year old Allison yesterday so that Chris and Victoria could have a date night that didn’t involve ghouls or hydras or anything supernatural (they haven’t been very lucky lately), and have a good dinner on a nice restaurant that just opened last week and has had very nice reviews.

He’s pretty sure her detailed analysis of the food is going to be hilarious and not very flattering. After last time, he’s never doubting her culinary skills, though.

He’s meeting her and Chris, along with several visiting family members (it’s Alexandrine’s birthday) at the picnic area that has become so popular lately. You can’t go by car (only police and emergency services are allowed), but it’s just outside town proper, after a nice ten minute walk you cross a pretty big bridge and you’re there.

Allison insisted on baking a cake for grandma so they’re running a little late. It’s lopsided and made almost entirely out of sprinkles and gummy bears more than actual cake, but since it’s Allison’s, he’s pretty sure everyone is going to be gushing at the feat. 

He eyes her fondly. She’s insisted on walking, so right now he only has the cake box on his hands. She’s on her princess stage, so she’s wearing a pretty light pink and white (Victoria is going to kill him for letting her wear that to a picnic) dress with matching Mary Janes. He’s also put her quite long hair in a braided crown with flowers interwoven on it and she’s been squealing about it on intervals ever since he finished.

What. He researched, okay? Chris is hopeless about those things and last time Victoria had to leave for a week… He couldn’t stand it anymore, okay? Kate can mock him all she wants (it’s a fair price for letting him practice on her beforehand).

“We’re almost there,“ he tells Victoria on the phone. “Just crossing the bridge. Where are you? It’s pretty crowded.”

“ _I’ll meet you at the end and lead you there._ “

“Perfect. No one has killed Peter yet, right? I’m hearing a car coming but since I don’t hear the sirens…”

“I can’t promise you more than a few minutes more of safety if he continues like this,” she deadpans and he cracks.

“See you in a few. Say bye to mama, Ally.”

“Bye, mama!“ she squeals and he melts like always.

He can tell the car coming from behind is driving quite fast. “Ally, come here, honey.” She runs up to him, slamming into his legs and hugging them, and he picks her up. He spots Victoria ahead and he makes Allison wave at her for him as they continue crossing the bridge. He presses himself to the edge to leave more than enough way for the vehicle to pass them safely.

A few seconds later Victoria screams, terrified for the first time since nearly seven years ago.

Instead of slowing down, the car goes even faster, obviously targeting Stiles and Allison. It crashes on them and then falls over the edge. 

“CHRIS!“ she screams, calling him to her as she starts staggering towards where she last saw them. Peter grabs her as he passes, helping her before she falls.

“I can still hear their heartbeats,” he says urgently before letting her go and sprinting towards the edge and jumping before anyone else appears. “I hear his voice! STILES?!”

She forcefully composes herself and sprints after Peter. People are starting to appear when she lets herself slip on the hillside, her heart pounding wildly.

“I know it hurts a little bit, honey, but it will be over soon.“ She hears Stiles’ pained and strained voice. She reaches Peter and then looks up.

“Mama!” Allison cries, big tears sliding down her face.

Stiles’ palms are stuck to the ceiling and he has Allison grabbed tightly between his legs. Even from where she is, she can see the oddness of one of his shoulders, probably dislocated. He’s trembling badly and gritting his teeth. Allison looks unharmed, even if shaken.

She hears the sirens getting nearer. They have to act fast because it’s obvious that the way Stiles is keeping himself up is not normal.

“Peter,” Stiles grunts as he lets the palm of the not dislocated arm unstick, a pained scream escaping him. “It’s okay, Ally,” he gasps and hoists Allison up to press her to his chest. Her stomach rolls. When he speaks again, she can clearly hear in his voice the extreme pain he is in now. The deputies start to slide down the hillside, running towards them. “You’re gonna have to catch us.”

“I’m ready when you are,“ he answers, gaze intense.

He lets go, curling himself around Allison as he falls and putting her above him. The deputies yell alarmed. She reaches for them too.

Peter catches them with a grunt, steady as a rock. 

Later, at the hospital, after being checked (Allison is unharmed, Stiles pulled several muscles and really dislocated his left arm), they get the whole story from one of the deputies. The man that tried to kill them was Alan Richardson, a recent divorcee that had decided, under the influence, to get revenge from his ex-wife by trying to take from her what she loved the most, their daughter. His crazy idea was to search for them across the picnic area, not caring about who he run over until he found them. If he hadn’t spotted Allison before reaching the actual picnic area and drunkenly thought her his daughter, he would have killed a lot of people. 

“Those are pretty good reflexes you have there,” the deputy says, “and a very good luck.” 

“He’s a tough cookie,“ Chris says fondly. 

“I’m hungry, mama,“ Allison pipes from Stiles’ side. “Can I have some cookies?” 

“Here, honey,” Victoria answers as she passes her a little bag. Homemade cookies, of course.

Stiles’ lips twitch. At the moment the rest of the family is in the waiting room (Peter’s not very happy right now, he bets). Allison refused to part from Stiles, and her parents refused to part from her, so the doctors have made some allowances. He’s happy that apart from some clinginess on her part, the whole ordeal doesn’t seem to have left any lasting consequences on her. 

His left arm is taped to prevent him from moving it and his right arm is around her, so he nuzzles her hair to catch her attention. “Share?” 

She’s such a generous cutie. She hums and turns to put a cookie in his mouth, still munching hers.

Right them, his father enters the room, relieving the other deputy. He freezes, nearly choking and Victoria places a hand on his back. Chris eyes them curious but doesn’t say a thing.

“You seem to have an uncanny ability to be in the middle of all the trouble, son,” he says drolly, smiling slightly at the picture he and the little girl make.

“I’d like to point out that I also have the ability to get me out of it normally,“ he answers, mouth partially full. Allison puts another cookie in it the moment he swallows. 

“One of these days I’ll get how you do it and share the secret magic with the rest of the police force.“ 

“It’s the mojo.” Allison pipes helpfully. Stiles chokes, Chris is flabbergasted and Victoria shakes containing her laughter.

“The mojo,“ he humors her gently but obviously not taking her seriously.

“Never doubt Uncle’s mojo,“ she nods seriously and proceeds to try to put the last cookie in Stiles’ mouth. “Right, uncle?” 

He bites only half, letting her have the rest. She munches happily. “Right, sweetheart.” 

He takes in his father’s expression and he cracks, hiding his face in her nearly undone updo. She doesn’t really get why he’s laughing but she joins him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go. Hope you like it! Hopefully this will satiate my need for this verse enough to pop out next chapter of Runes?
> 
> Some feedback, please?


	4. When the morning comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the end, it’s not Gerard or the alpha pack or the nogitsune what breaks him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extended version of [this 5 minute writing challenge](http://feelingsdusk.tumblr.com/post/143604733114/5-minute-writing-challenge).

In the end, it’s not Gerard or the alpha pack or the nogitsune what breaks him, but his own father when, like always, he fails to deal with the pressure like he should.

The dread doctors capture him on a nice Sunday morning, when he’s finally calling defeat against his loneliness and going to the loft, to one of the pack meetings he knows is happening right there, even though no one has tried to invite him again after he spent months ignoring every text until they stopped altogether (half-hearted attempts at best, but attempts nonetheless). He leaves his jeep a couple of streets over, hoping that not having the jeep at hand will help quell his need to flee at the first opportunity and that the short walk there will help with his frayed nerves.

He’ll never know if that would have worked.

He hasn’t seen the pack in a while, or his father, for that matter, so no one notices him gone, and when they do, it’s too late. There’s no trail, no clues. It takes his father a while to even find where he disappeared, because Stiles learned a while ago how to not be spotted and, nowadays, it’s become a second nature to him and he does it without thinking, even when he’s not actually trying to hide. And the little amount of people that did spot him that day hasn’t seen anything that would help him find him.

(The doctors play with him for a while, fascinated by how each experiment’s outcome changes just because he’s a spark. It’s agony second after second, hour after hour, day after day.)

By the time they finally find a trace that vaguely leads them in Stiles’ direction, late doesn’t even begin to cover it. After yet another failed experiment, Stiles loses control of something he barely had even started to grasp the basics before, and levels Eichen House to the ground, completely out of his mind. They have to unearth him from under layers and layers of rubble, barely alive and delirious.

When he wakes up, weeks after his last conscious thought and in a deep seated pain, he learns, from a grim Peter of all people, that he had started to wake up about a week before. Stiles has no recollection of that and he tells so to him, deeply confused and with a foreboding feeling. He learns that he lost control of his mouth, that he spoke of things that he would have never talked about in his right mind. Sick to the stomach, he prays that everyone thought of his babbling as the nonsense of a delirious person.

He checks himself out AMA after two weeks of having Peter as his only visitor.

Peter is grim and, if you know what to look for like Stiles does, you can tell that he’d like to talk him out of what he’s about to do, because there’s no way it can have a good outcome for him. Stiles _knows_ , he really does, but he has to at least _try_. 

(He hopes that it’s not like when he tried as a kid. Tried and tried, and always failed.)

When he reaches the house, his heart goes up his throat when he finds his father completely drunk and he braces himself. Vitriol spews from his mouth and Stiles bears it like he bore it when he was eight, calm in the face of the storm. Everything hurts in his body, but nothing compares to the pain his father’s words inflict on his heart, his very soul. Peter hovers behind and he has no doubt he will intervene if his dad so much as lays a finger on him. That grounds him and gives him strength to hold on, even if barely. His calm demeanor infuriates the man even more and he tries to attack Stiles, hate in his eyes. Stiles confirms that he let out his deepest, darkest secret, guarded zealously since the day his mother died. Each hateful word cuts deeper and deeper.

Stiles can’t take it. Nothing can stop it now. He breaks.

He explodes. 

About her trying to kill him and him never acknowledging the problem, wilfully not seeing it, about his neglect, about that day he was so drunk that he nearly broke a bottle on his head. About many things more. Every every single thing that has been festering inside for years and years comes out of his mouth in a flood that he can’t stop.

He leaves, drained, pained, choking and battling an anxiety attack of the likes he hasn’t had since the day of his mother’s death. He doesn’t look back. Peter follows and he doesn’t even notice. Morning finds his father drunk to death, or rather, one of his deputies does. It’s in the papers the very next day and suddenly, it’s like Stiles isn’t there.

He spends months in a haze, days passing by without him really noticing. He’s vaguely aware of Peter’s presence, directing him here and there. He doesn’t see the changing scenery or the hours they spend in a car. Then, one day, he starts noticing the smell of the minty shampoo as Peter washes his hair, the acidic tang of the oranges he cuts for him after lunch, the sound of that little annoyed growl he lets out when they get saddled with loud neighbours in a hotel. Details start slowly creeping in, until it all rushes in when he notices him gone.

After nearly a year with Peter as his only unfailing support, he finally reacts when a witch nearly kills the man in Denver to get to Stiles’ blood.

“Well, good morning, sweetheart,“ Peter says softly, covered in blood and with a slowly healing gash on his face, too close to the neck for comfort. The sun is just rising. He vaguely recalls him saying the greeting every morning and him giving no response at all every single time.

“Good morning, Peter,” he rasps back, exhausted, but finally awake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some feedback, please?


	5. Bad day to be a Turk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Hale is a Turk god, the other Turks respect and fear him on equal measures. Well, that's actually not true. No one wants to cross him because they will never be seen again.
> 
> Enter the newbie, who doesn't give a damn about crossing him.
> 
> Days after, the rest of the Turks are on a state of perpetual shock about how is he still alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [@ssree](https://tmblr.co/mv0kDALmvHLT__cnOTN8WUA) and I started talking about what would Stiles and Peter be in the FFVII world. She said Turk!Peter and Cetra!Stiles. I raised it up to Turk!Stiles and Soldier!Peter and reminded her of Genesis when she didn’t see Peter as a Soldier. She countered with Turk!Peter and Rebel!Avalanche!Stiles (which I admit I really like). Then I wondered: Turk!Stiles, ex-soldier!Peter? And both of us liked it. But right as we were getting excited about that, I saw the light. Turk!Peter&Stiles. Both. Then Ssree sent us to the damn gutter when she said mentor!Peter.
> 
> And then this came to be.

Peter Hale is deeply respected in the Turks, ok? He really is. He’s swift and deadly, devious and cunning. Sure, some would argue that those traits can be found on any member of the Turks to a lesser or a greater degree, and they wouldn’t be wrong. But the thing about Peter is that he excels in all those and more to an almost obscene degree, and that, in all his years as a Turk (and that’s counting since day one, or in other words, since he was a newbie), he has never failed to accomplish his mission. 

Not even once. 

If that doesn’t scare your balls into retreating inside your body, the man is also a vindictive bastard and the most stupid shit can get you in his line of sight. Seriously, no one knows what’s worse, his sharp knife or his even sharper tongue. So yeah, no one crosses him, ever. There are rumors about some stupid newbies that pissed him off about two years ago, but no one has actually been able to prove that, because not only there were no witnesses but those newbies disappeared one day and weren’t seen ever again. 

(The most optimistic think that they went back to their hometown.) 

(They should know better.) 

(Also, the one that recruited them still hides in the nearest room whenever he sees Peter.) 

(And the whole thing sparked a new protocol only applicable to newbies. Newbies are just newbies until they last at least two months and then the rest of the Turks start bothering to learn their names. The time varies depending on how irritating the newbie is, because no one bothered to learn Reno’s name until the fifth month.) 

(Some still called him newbie until a year passed.) 

To top that, no one knows where he gets his information, but it’s always right. Always. Which means that if he tells you to go to the manhole with the chipped ShinRa logo on that shady corner in sector 7, then bark three times in a pink sparkling tutu with a purple wig in pigtails on, you do it. No questions, you do it. 

(Rumor has it that Tseng did it and that’s why he’s the only considered candidate for the position of the future head of the Turks.) 

(Enough said.) 

So, fact is that Peter is the untouchable (vengeful motherfucker) god of the Turks, which is why everyone just forgets that the newbie ever existed when he snarks back at their resident god. He’s going to stop existing when Peter finishes with him, anyway… Except the very next day he’s still, well, existing? And snarking back? And questioning some of his information? And hogging the coffee machine because apparently the newbie’s veins are filled with coffee not blood? And Peter has that look in his eyes… 

By this point, since it’s been a month and the newbie is still miraculously alive, people start to figure that he’s like the cockroaches or rats, and he would withstand the apocalypse even if it happened right now, so they start asking him his name, which is Stiles. 

And then he breaks the coffee machine from overuse. 

And Peter just takes out his gun (a customized thing that is a beauty that has been and will be many people’s last sight) calmly and then fires. 

In the following minute, Stiles just dodges the bullets without looking, takes out a thunder materia, fries the coffee machine until it starts working again and makes two cups of coffee. Then he hands one to Peter accompanied by a lewd joke about firing too soon and then skips out from the room happily. 

The poor Soldier and trooper that are in the elevator are really confused and pretty wary when it’s suddenly filled to the brim with Turk-style fleeing Turks (you know, when a Turk is fleeing but makes it look like all is happening according to plan, when in reality nothing is farther from the truth), and it would have been funny in other circumstances, but not when they’re scared shitless and pretending they’re not. 

And suddenly everyone is requesting a deepcover mission or, whatever man, whichever mission that takes them out of Midgard. Pronto. And also suddenly, everyone understands why that bastard Tseng disappeared the very day that the newbie was recruited. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some feedback, please?


	6. A Study in Deviousness and Want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the events of The best helping hand is at the end of your own arm. Deaton doesn't stand a chance.

Stiles parks his jeep in a street that's way too far from the clinic and Peter is quite confused about it. Confused, that is, until the teen enters an old nearby bookstore, talks a bit to the elderly (ancient) clerk about some obscure text and then makes them leave through the back when said clerk is not looking. A quick check reveals what Peter already suspected: there are no security or traffic cameras in sight. There was one at the entrance of the store, though.

Peter grins, giddy with anticipation.

He's never been one to admit when he's wrong, but he was: he didn't think he could want Stiles anymore than he did. He does. Oh, how he does. The Stiles back then was a possibility, a being of untapped potential. Look at him now. What will he be a few months from now?

(Peter wants. He wants more than he's ever wanted.)

Peter goes back to being confused when instead of taking them towards the clinic, Stiles goes exactly in the opposite direction. He's about to make a smartass remark about his awful sense of direction when the teen stops abruptly, putting a hand up to halt Peter as well. Then the smell hits his sensitive nose, burning his nostrils and making him want to snarl.

"Deaton always takes a break at noon to have lunch at home when Scott is working," Stiles says simply as he takes a look around to see if anyone is coming and then he pulls Peter to the side.

"Can you break it?" Peter growls covering his nose. This little trip will be for naught if they can't even get to Deaton.

"Nope," Stiles answers nonchalantly. "But why would I? A ward is useless if he can't actually get inside, you know." 

Peter's snarl vanishes as quickly as it came, morphing into a bloodthirsty grin again.

(Yes, he wants so bad.)

\---

"Mr. Stilinski, the balance-"

"You talk too much," Stiles groans. "And that coming from me is rich, I know. But really, you're giving me a headache. Shut up already, stop spouting bullshit. Your mouth must taste horrible, how can you stand it?"

It's like watching a train wreck, Peter can't stop looking. It's glorious.

"You should leave," Deaton says firmly.

"Um, how about no? And color me confused here," Stiles answers unfazed, reaching into his pocket to take out a pair of surgical gloves. Deaton's heart rate spikes for a moment and Peter smirks. Really, he hasn't smiled this much in a very long time. His face is starting to hurt but this is a pain he'll welcome. "Because you seem to think you have control of the situation. I mean, you don't? Don't get me wrong, I don't really like killing, but I will kill you if I have to. So the question here isn't really if you're going to tell me what I need to know to keep my family safe, it's whether you'll be in one piece afterwards."

"We're in the middle of the day in plain view, what do you think-"

"You should have chosen a less deserted place to live in then," Stiles chirps. "I'd bet you thought it a good idea back then. Newsflash: it really wasn't. You know, in case there was any doubt by now."

"I won't-"

"Aw, your sister did get all the smarts, didn't she? Which, seeing that she followed the alpha pack around thinking she could manipulate things her way... it isn't much, to be honest."

Peter can't help it, he starts laughing when Deaton pales dramatically and his heartbeat accelerates to dangerous speeds. He catches the twitch of his hand, as if there's nothing more he wants to do than to take out his phone and call his sister to know if she's still alive.

Unsurprisingly, one Alan Deaton talks in the end and neither Stiles nor Peter have to lay a hand on him. Before the half hour mark they're entering the bookstore through the back again. Stiles picks up a book that he set aside before leaving and then pays for it. The clerk didn't even notice they had left.

"Would you have really killed him?" Peter asks curiously when they're back at the jeep.

Stiles raises both eyebrows at him and Peter's grin widens.

(He's not fucking this up, he's not. Stiles will be his and he will be Stiles'. If he can get this, he doesn't care if he doesn't get anything else.)

Peter laughs again not even an hour later, when Stiles starts receiving a barrage of texts from Scott, whom is devastated because Deaton is skipping town and closing the practice _out of the blue_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, please?


	7. Of yappy dogs, wolves and childhood dreams.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles has always been the kind of yappy dog that goes against the biggest, meanest dog of the park. That doesn't change the day he's about to realize his childhood dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on [this](http://feelingsdusk.tumblr.com/post/144108991739/5-minute-writing-challenge).
> 
> Thanks @nineofour and @Ssree for proofing this~

Stiles is so nervous that he feels like he’s about to vibrate out of his own skin. He fidgets in his seat and tries to tune out the asshole that has been bitching on his phone for ten minutes straight now. The lady sitting next to him seems to finally have had enough after watching Mr. Asshole warily for three stops, and moves to change her seat to the far end of the wagon, forcing her pig of a son (seriously, the kid’s snacks are _everywhere_ , Stiles even found one of his doritos in his lap... and no, Stiles may be a disaster, but that dorito wasn't his, he checked) to go after her. Stiles should do the same, but his reactions to situations like this have always been a little skewed and, even though he's only 147 pounds of pale skin, fragile bone and sarcasm, he remains seated.

( _One day, Stiles, one day..._ he can hear his dad sigh in his mind, because Stiles has always been the kind of yappy dog that goes against the biggest, meanest dog in the park.)

This is the day. Finally, _finally_ , the day he has been waiting for since was a little kid has come and nothing can sour it for him. Absolutely nothing.

Until the day she died of cancer, Stiles’ mom used to love this daily cooking column in the newspaper that had started about a year before. Unless she was hospitalized, she would try every recipe, from sweet to savory (though she liked the desserts especially), that appeared in The Big Bad Blue’s column, with Stiles as her little kitchen helper. She adored the writer’s style and creativity, and always laughed at their sass and sarcastic humor. She used to say it lightened her day.

So it’s no wonder that when her condition worsened again (unknown to them for the last time), the first thing that came to Stiles' mind was to cook her something from the column to make her feel better, because it was obvious that only reading it just wasn’t cutting it.

Stiles couldn't have that, of course, but what did nearly cut something was the knife that he used to chop the vegetables for a ratatouille, at the time too big for a seven ( _nearly eight, dad!_ ) year old boy, so that made his father place a lot of restrictions for him in the kitchen. Stiles was inconsolable. He cried, begged and tried to bargain a lot, but his father was unmoved and the restrictions stood.

When he finally could breathe through his nose again, Stiles, a kid never deterred for long, thought about the rules and a solution, because his mother _was_ going to have The Big Bad Blue’s recipes and smile again.

Stiles decided to write a letter to The Big Bad Blue, explaining his situation and asking for a recipe that he could make that didn’t use sharp knives, the stove or the oven. His response came in the newspaper two days later, addressed to _that brave boy that wants to make his mum smile. Hang in there buddy, and thank you for teaching me a lesson. Hope she enjoys this._ And over the following week, one recipe would appear addressed to Stiles.

His mom loved the no-bake vanilla yogurt cake with a crunchy hazelnut and caramel base that he brought to her the very next day. And for the following six days, even though she looked worse with each passing day, she would smile as she took a bite of every recipe that The Big Bad Blue posted addressed to him.

She never got to taste the seventh recipe’s resulting cake, but Stiles made sure to serve it in her honor after the funeral.

(Stiles never got to taste it either. He choked before even bringing the fork to his mouth and then hid in the toilet for three hours. When he finally made up his mind, the cake was gone.)

Stiles was heartbroken (and would be for a long, long time), but he made sure to send a scanned version of the picture of her smiling after she took a bite of that very first cake to The Big Bad Blue, thanking him for everything.

Stiles hasn’t stopped cooking, and especially baking, ever since.

“…still don’t know why this nonsense of having tryouts when I’m more than enough. Laura, why would the Big Bad Blue need an incompetent idi- Why would I sugarcoat it, dear? No, I don't..."

And some asshole thinks that just because he has money (seriously, he’s been bitching about his broken car (probably a Jaguar or a Porsche if the watch he's been checking every ten seconds is anything to go by) since about five stops ago), he can come and take Stiles’ dream of working with The Big Bad Blue (and finally meeting, because no one knows who they are) from Stiles? Nope, not happening.

"Hey, you," the man calls out testily. When Stiles looks around, he sees no one else so he assumes he's talking to him. He raises an eyebrow and the man sighs visibly. "Which is the way to...?"

Which is why, when they leave the metro at the same stop and the man asks him for directions way less politely than normal social rules require, he has no qualms about sending him exactly in the opposite direction of where the tryouts are held.

"Have fun, asshole," Stiles mutters as he leaves with a spring to his step.

\---

Much, much later, Stiles gapes when the tryouts don't start until Mr. Asshole gets there. Then he gulps when one Peter Hale aims a shark-like smile at Stiles when he spots him, because, fuck Stiles' life but Mr. Asshole is not a hopeful applicant but an employer.

Fuck his life even more, because when he's presenting what he brought to show off his skills (a no-bake panacotta with a pistachio and coffee base, and a vegan tofu lasagna that his dad swears _tastes like the real deal_ ) he finds himself under Mr. Ass-, no Mr. Hale (his mind immediately jumps to Asshale, what's wrong with him???) penetrating stare, he blurts the first thing that comes to mind.

"Well, it's your fault for being an asshole, dude, so you can stop trying to kill me with your eyes like... right now. Next time you'll know to say at least please, because, you know, social rules and all that shit."

Mr. Impressive-eyebrows chokes and gapes, Ms. Killer-scowl snorts and snickers and Ms. Smile-that-speaks-of-trouble starts cackling uproariously. Mr. Asshale just blinks, unperturbed.

"Oh," Peter Hale smirks dangerously, leaning back in his chair. "I'm keeping this one. Kick everyone else out."

"On it," Killer-scowl replies, leering at Stiles, because Impressive-eyebrows has facepalmed and is yet to re-emerge, and Smile-that-speaks-of-trouble hasn't stopped cackling.

Stiles suddenly feels danger.

"What if I don't want to be kept," he snaps warily, trying to recover his tupperware.

Asshale and Smile-that-speaks-of-trouble's hands clamp down on the edge, lightning fast.

"Too late," they both say with the same shark-like smile.

Ah, crap.

(Apparently, the yappy dog didn't just choose the biggest, meanest dog in the park, but the wolf. Or more like wolves, as in plural.)

( _One day, Stiles, one day..._ his dad sighs in his mind again.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments please~


End file.
